References to chapter 29, 21
Clovis — Nightmares
Clovis (14) - Travis (15) - Connor (14)
Early August 2008
"You think this is going to last? That he'll be here forever?"
Running. He's running.
"War is a terrible thing."
He can't breathe. His sides ache.
"It just takes and takes and takes."
Where is he running? There's nothing here. It's all grass and never coming mountains.
"It doesn't discriminate. It doesn't judge."
There's nobody here. Where is he? He's always here with him.
"It just takes."
The winds pick up and hides hides his scream for his brother.
"It takes and takes and takes until it can take no more."
And like curtains falling, the wind stops. He hears a familiar laugh and when he spins around, there's his brother. Standing (alive) and talking (alive) and smiling (alive) with Luke. With Luke. Why are you still talking with Luke? Get away from him. Get away from him right now.
He's holding a knife.
Stop laughing.
Don't you see the knife? Don't you see he's about to hurt you?
Hello? Hey?
hey?
hey.
HEY.
Hey! Pay attention, T—
"Who knows, it might just take him too."
Clovis's eyes fly open and he goes automatically for his handy dandy trash can he keeps conveniently by his bed. But fortunately, this is not one of the dreams that upset his stomach and Clovis rolls back over to his back.
He glances at the digital clock on the night table.
2:45 am.
A nightmare.
He had a nightmare.
He groans silently and presses the heel of his hands into his eyes. Gods, he hates nightmares. He can never fall back asleep afterward. But lately, that's all he been getting and it shouldn't be a surprise. If anything, it should be getting worse and worse as the war goes on.
A bed creaks and that's his cue.
Clovis prays to Hypnos the God of Sleep to knock him out then proceeds to close his eyes and tries not to listen to the squeaking of a bed, the creaking of a ladder, the shuffling of clothes, and a voice— wobbly and weak— in the stark silence of Hermes's cabin.
"Travis?"
"Mmphhmmmmpppp."
"I had another dream."
"Ya wha? Whas it abou'? Do ya need so' alo' time?"
"It's just the usual dream. Can I sleep with you tonight?"
And like always, a bed groans. The ladder creaks some more, the bed groans again, blanket rustles, a familiar squeaky gasp as Travis misjudges how small a twin bed really is, and Connor's chortling as he slaps his hand over Travis's arm or hand or wrist to stop him from tumbling over.
Then silence.
And Clovis stops trying to not listen.
"Again and again… how long is this going to go on before you realized joining me is the best choice?"
Clovis has this thing where he drifts into people's dreams when he's sleeping. Not on purpose though. No, he's a big advocate of personal privacy and would never even dare dream of spying if given a choice. It's just… he just sort of tumbles into the dreamscape of his fellow campers when he's asleep and when they're asleep. An unwilling participant to an unknowing host.
Most of it is incomprehensible. Just a mumble jumble of visions, words, and thoughts.
But some of them,
Their crystal clarity,
The lucidity,
The undoubtedly real fear that settles in his chest and constricts around his whole body like a boa…
It's like he's awake.
The majority are just silly dreams. Someone forgot their pants. Someone had an exam. Someone forgot to flush the toilet after a deuce. Sometimes, though, it's like last night. Visceral. Allusory. Something more than trivial matters.
He tries not to think about who's the dreamer.
He tries not to think about what they mean.
He tries not to dwell on the stuff he sees.
He tries so hard and it never works.
"They taunt your siblings. They hurt them without repercussions. Are you not angry? Is it not unfair? Why are you not taking action? Or perhaps you don't care for them? You don't love them? Is that it?"
"Your brother did this you ugly fuck. He's the reason we're all going to die."
Luke isn't my brother. I'm not even a son of Hermes. Stop bothering me and piss off. Clovis wants to say but he isn't really a fighter.
"Aren't you going to say something? Huh?"
He's more of a pacifist.
"Oi, uglyface, are you listening?"
A pacifist that really wishes someone would come save him from these three bullies.
"I'm going to knock some — shit, Connor's coming!"
"Are you sure that's not Travis?"
"Who the fuck cares!? I'm not going to risk it! Connor's scary, man. I'm outta here."
He's saved again. Again he couldn't save him himself. Aren't you tired of this same dance over and over? Aren't you sick of yourself?
Clovis closes his book and stands to greet his savior, trying hard to smile like nothing's wrong but he knows he isn't succeeding.
"Hi, Connor."
"Wrong~" Travis singsongs and Clovis winces. He apologizes profusely but Travis's grin softens and he tells him it's fine. 'It happens all the time. Don't sweat over it'.
"Moving on to more pressing matters though, we're practicing our sword fighting skills again. Wanna join?"
"Sure, let me put away my book," Clovis says, turning around.
"Sure, sure. I'll wait here for you. We're using our celestial weapon today so be sure to bring yours. Oh and Clovis?" Clovis's eyes wander back to his counselor but Travis is no longer looking at him but at the backs of the three campers a ways away. And even though there's still that jovialness in Travis's voice, it's layered over a calmness that doesn't suit him. "Were they bothering you?"
"No," he lies behind a closed lip smile, mind going back to the demeaning nightmares.
Travis pats him on the shoulder and everything is back to normal.
"It's okay to ask me to kick someone's butt. I don't mind doing it and Connor really doesn't mind doing it. You're not bothering us. If anyone picks on you, tell us and we'll deal with it, okay?"
Clovis nods but in his mind, he resolved to tell no one.
They have plenty of problems. He can't just shove his in with all the baggage they are already carrying.
A plain field. He's walking for what seems like ever. No ones here. No one but him. Just wait. Three. Two. One. Someone gasps behind him. He turns around and there's Travis down on one knee with a sword through his chest.
He has seen this a thousand times. He experienced this a thousand times. It's a dream. He knows it's a dream.
Still the horror is there and it clogs his throat. He can't breathe. He can't think. He can't move. His whole world is crumbling and he's falling.
"Keep the dagger up. Elbows out. Be aware of your surroundings. Don't get too focused on one thing, okay Callie?"
"Okay, Connor!"
"There you go! Who's the fiercest 6-year-old in all of camp?"
In another world, Clovis would say how wrong it is for a child to teach another child how to hold a dagger. It's wrong to teach a child how to protect herself from nonhuman and human attackers. It's wrong for a child to be fighting at all. Callie's 6. She should be holding a book, learning how to read, not how to butcher a monster. Connor's 14. He should be worrying about homework, not running a cabin with his brother and teaching others how to fight.
But this is their world.
And their world is breaking apart.
Chiron has prepared them the best he can, but it's probably not enough. He's stationed in the trees with his other cabinmates and Apollo's cabin. Callie's somewhere hidden in the cabin, too young to fight and too inexperienced. He fiddles with the bow in his hand as he stares down at Ares's Cabin. They are the ones on the frontlines. They're the ones that should be the most scared, but they're not.
The ground trembles.
He hears Clarisse yell, "Lock shields!"
Through the forests' trunks he can see monsters appearing in hordes. There's roaring in his ears. Without his permission, his hands start to shake. Someone yells for them to shoot and he does, watching his arrow land nowhere except the ground. People are screaming, in pain, in fear. Bones crunch. Screams are cut short. Giants swing their maces. A body flies into the air and lands unmoving.
Someone shoots flaming arrows into the trees and he jumps off before he burns, landing on the ground knees first.
Connor is there to pick him up, his hand remarkably steady on his arm. "You alright?"
A hellhound pounces on them and Clovis flinches, eyes closing involuntarily as he prepares himself for a violent death. But Connor takes care of it without an issue, shooting an arrow into its open mouth quickly. It evaporates into gold dusts that cover them both. Connor stands back up gracefully with steely eyes and Clovis can't believe Connor is the same age as him.
"Alright, here's the plan. Clovis, stick with me and—"
Clovis shoves his hands in his pocket but Connor probably saw the trembling in his hands. He did and Clovis hates the worry he sees in Connor's blue eyes. It's like he knows Clovis isn't a fighter. Like he knows he is a wimp. Like he knows he is going to pee his pants the minute he faces a monster.
"Here's the plan. Clovis, you guard our cabin. Make sure Callie doesn't do anything stupid like go outside."
And before he can say anything, Connor is running to where the monsters are screeching from.
The field isn't empty anymore. When he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees are the bodies. Lee. Castor Michael. Silena. Beckendorf. Pollux. Clarisse. Katie. Miranda. Percy. Chiron. Annabeth.
And at the very end, his brother.
But that's nothing new.
"This is what's going to happen. I'll make sure you'll survive. You'll walk through your loved ones' graves. You'll be the sole survivor and you'll suffer for eternity. For eternity, you'll be left with only your failures. You failed to save them. You failed to choose the right side. You failed."
"Tell me, Connor. Are you willing to bet everything on your brother's faith to the gods?"
The first battle of many.
The first casualties of many.
Clovis presses his fist into his eyes and tries to stifle his sobs. Everywhere around him, all he hears are weeping and the rustle of shrouds as they're jostled.
He doesn't want to sleep tonight. He doesn't want to sleep ever.
His peers burn the burial shrouds for their departed companions, for their friends, for their brothers and sisters, for a counselor, for a beloved, until it's their turn to burn their losses.
And Clovis watches Travis and Connor take the torch together in hand and light up the three shrouds they made last minute.
Martin. Ava. Celise.
Callie is bawling beside him, her little fingers digging into his shirt sleeve. Hao is glaring at the ground. Connie is weeping into her knees.
And it's unfair. It's not right. They're only kids. We're only kids. We shouldn't be dying from wounds like these. We shouldn't be fighting at all. And it's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fair.
Something's different.
He stares at the burial shrouds before him and there's a hand squeezing his heart, squeezing his throat. His knees are heavy as he stumbles forward and kneels by the shrouds, a hand tracing the decorated linings. A lump grows in his throat as he whispers an apology.
The grass sways. The winds pick up and still. Even without turning around, he knows he's there behind him.
"That was easy, wasn't it?"
He's tired. He's so, so tired. He doesn't have the energy to do anything more than curl in on himself and says half-heartedly. "Go away. I'm not in the mood."
The voice continues though, ever persistent, neverending.
"A single swing and goodbye, Lee. A little stab and night, night Castor. And your poor cabinmates. One eaten oh so slow—"
And he screeches"Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! Why can't you just leave me alone, you… you… you meanie. I told you so many times I can't hear you! Just go away!"
But that's wrong. He can hear him loud and clear.
"Your father let your brothers and sisters die. If he truly cared for you like you hope for, then tell me. Why are they dead?"
"Shut up, shut up, shut up! This is a dream. I'm dreaming. Alalalala."
"You can't protect him forever. One day you won't be fast enough. You won't be quick enough. You won't make it in time. He'll die. And it'll be on your hands. But I can guarantee his safety. I can guarantee his life. Nobody shall hurt your brother and your cabin if you so wish. All I ask for is the son of the Sea's head on a platter. One life and your brother will be safe. Hey, what do you say? Do we have a deal?"
When Clovis is shoved back to reality, he reaches for his trash can to throw his dinner back up.
Clovis plays with the helium-filled balloon in his hands.
Bouncy. Light. Elusive.
A single push And it goes wherever he wants. So easy to manipulate.
The only thing keeping the balloon grounded is a string and a weight.
Clovis takes a deep breath and glances at his counselor, his dried-eyed, chatty counselor.
"I can't believe Chris is coming back sane! This is so cool! I guess Mr. D really does care. I'm happy. Are you happy? Oh wait. I don't think you know Chris. You're going to love him. He's a pretty chill guy. Although not as chill as Anna, I think. Hey, Clovis, did you see that chocolate cake? I made that. Connor tasted it and said it belongs in the trash. So I'm having Nick and Gabe make a new one. I'm praying they finish on time. But I really don't think Chris will care. At least I hope not. Oh god what if he does? Should I have brought a cake instead of making one?"
Just do it, Clovis.
"You okay, Travis?" he butts into the conversation and immediately winces at his lack of tact. 'Are you okay?' Of course he's not okay. None of them are okay.
But Travis and Connor never mock them for something like that. Travis looks up from his work to face him. "Hm? Oh, yeah. I'm perfectly fine. A-okay."
And Travis even smiles to complete the image.
Like a fool, Clovis just continue the charade. "It just seems like you're distracted. Are you worried Chris won't be good?"
Travis stiffens, his hands' stilling.
"I won't know until he gets here. But I have total faith in my brother." And Travis nudges him in the shoulder lightly. "You should too, Clovis!"
Come on, Clovis… stop stalling. Just ask it. But he continues the play anyway. "Are you worried you'll lose Connor?"
Travis bites his lips but still answer nonetheless.
"Worried? Yeah sometimes but Connor is incredibly capable. I think he's more worried about me. Actually, I think he's most worried about all of you guys. Not to be rude or anything but you're not a good fighter. Callie is too young to be fighting. Anna is too soft. Nick is too gentle. Abraham is too confident. Hao, too protective and oh my gods. I should be worried too about you guys. None of you can really fight."
Come on...
Clovis looks down at the string wrapped around his finger and wishes not for the first time he has Will's bluntness. He isn't good with confrontations. He's never good with confrontations. And he'll be exposing his secret if he says something. But … but… try. You need to try. Travis is… Travis can't…
And Clovis squeezes his eyes shut and blurts, "You can't join Kronos, Travis."
Travis chokes on his spit and sputters, "How did you—"
But it's cut short when the door slams open and Chris, with his head bowed, yells, "H-Hi everybody!"
A/N: Thank you for reading!